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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051850">marked as one</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom'>blue--phantom (twilightscribe)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Come Inflation, Creampie, F/M, First Meetings, First Time, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oh No! Only One Bed, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Romantic Soulmates, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:59:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyse has been marked her entire life. She has never given it much thought. Till she meets Gaius. One chance meeting leads to more -- much more then Lyse ever could have anticipated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gaius van Baelsar/Lyse Hext</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bookclub Top Trope Challenge (January 2021)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>marked as one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The old adage is that your entire life flashes behind your eyes when you’re about to die.</p>
<p>That’s not what happens. At least, not to her.</p>
<p>Everything seems to happen <i>very</i> slowly but all at once.</p>
<p>She isn’t sure if she rolled her ankle or lost her footing. The end result is the same: the ground is beneath her one moment, but not the next.</p>
<p>(It was probably the explosion; the magitek reaper’s shot missed her, but the shockwave knocked her from sure footing.)</p>
<p>There’s nothing for her to grab onto, no handhold for her to struggle for. The empty expanse of space is under her, the cliff a good arm’s length out of her reach. Her eyes are wide behind her mask, arm outstretched as though she can <i>just</i> reach if she stretches far enough.</p>
<p>Gravity wins out. She begins to fall.</p>
<p>There’s a scream lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, which has sealed itself shut. Not that it would do much good.</p>
<p>Everything jerks to a sudden, sharp halt.</p>
<p>There’s a large, strong hand wrapped around her wrist. Her downward trajectory jerked to a stop.</p>
<p>Her chest feels as though a fire has been lit under her skin.</p>
<p>She hisses, claps a hand over her heart, can <i>feel</i> the burn beneath her fingers. What could be mistaken for black ink -- usually hidden under cloth and glamours, <i>can’t let anyone see something so personal and private</i> -- a raging fire beneath her palm.</p>
<p>Swinging in midair, there’s a little bit of fear that she might fall -- especially given that her unexpected savior isn’t looking at her, but rather at her pursuers -- but the heat under her hand trills and <i>she feels perfectly safe he won’t let her fall</i>. There’s a song in her blood and in her ears that she’s never heard or felt, but it feels undeniably <i>right</i>.</p>
<p>His grip is firm, his stance steady. His face is partially obscured, the angle not quite good enough for her to get a good look at anything but the sharp angle of his strong jaw, the hint of strong cheeks and there’s just the lightest touch of grey to his dark brown hair --</p>
<p>The gunshot breaks through her thoughts.</p>
<p>A brief pause. Then the magitek reaper explodes in a ball of ceruleum-fuelled fire that sends the soldiers accompanying it scrambling or flying.</p>
<p>She hadn’t even noted the gunblade in his hands; it’s blade long and deadly, his aim perfect.</p>
<p>He pulls her back onto solid ground.</p>
<p>Not that it does much good, for her legs have gone weak and her vision blurs for the briefest moment before a deadly, precise calm sweeps through her. The song in her blood still hums and trills its pleasure, only slightly muted now -- <i>the calm is not her own</i>. Her skin yet burns beneath her hand.</p>
<p>There should be some conversation, an order -- she has the impression of one being given but not spoken and she follows. She easily falls into step with him, the two of them racing from the scene before reinforcements can possibly arrive. His hand is large, warm, and strong around her wrist -- she easily keeps up with his much longer strides.</p>
<p>Questions should be bubbling at the back of her throat, more on the tip of her tongue. But her mind is oddly silent, strangely calm. It feels like no time at all has passed as they move through the thick forests, but she’s certain that a good amount of time has slipped past. Enough that they’re able to slow their rapid pace, their steps oddly insync with each other.</p>
<p>His touch feels almost scalding against her skin, muffled as it is through the bandages wrapped around his hand and arm. The grip should be too tight, perhaps even painful, but it’s gentle, the pressure a comforting constant and she feels as though it would be too easy, too <i>right</i> to entwine their fingers.</p>
<p>Her hand is still pressed against her chest, over the mark on her left breast that burns with a heat she has never felt before. Some small, distant part of her recalls that it’s a sign, a physical manifestation of a fledgling bond that’s begun to coalesce. Or something like that. It wasn’t something that she ever paid much attention to, put much stock into.</p>
<p>Maybe she should have paid more attention whenever the subject came up. But she never thought that this would happen. Not to her. Not ever.</p>
<p>It’s never been a matter of ‘worth’, at least she never thought that it was but that’s not quite the case, is it? There’s bitterness in her mouth, because nothing is fair and Yda deserves this more than she, but Yda isn’t here anymore. <i>She</i> wouldn’t be here if Yda was; this would never have happened if Yda --</p>
<p>His hand tightens around hers, but the pressure is gone just as she registers it. He drops his hand to his side, fingers tightening into a fist and that sense of calm she’d felt before vanishes with it.</p>
<p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p>
<p>“Don’t think of yourself as unworthy, Lyse.”</p>
<p>Her heart jumps into her throat as she realizes that not only does he <i>know her name</i>, but he now knows what lurks inside of her. She looks up at him, grateful that he can’t see how wide her eyes are. Not that he would, because he’s staring at the ground quite intensely.</p>
<p>“The world continues to have a twisted sense of humour, it seems.” There’s no heat to his voice -- which is deep and, strangely, vaguely familiar to her -- but there’s bitterness and she knows the taste of that well. “Or perhaps this is what Eorzeans refer to as ‘fate’ -- I never could learn the difference.”</p>
<p>She swallows awkwardly around the lump in her throat and gently wraps one hand around where he held her wrist. She can still feel the heat of his touch, the memory of it yet lingers as does the feel of his calm washing through her. She wishes she could be as assured as him, but her heart is hammering a sharp staccato in her chest and her nerves are frazzled as her thoughts whir through her head impossibly fast.</p>
<p>“... I always thought that fate was cruel,” she says softly, her voice trembling. She can’t be sure how much he might know, how much he might have gleaned from when he held her wrist in his. “Maybe it’s not that surprising that it’s been cruel to us both.”</p>
<p>While there’s hesitation when he reaches for her, there’s none in how he closes the space between them. For a moment, his hand hovers in the air -- about to make contact with her shoulder -- before he clasps it tightly with his hand.</p>
<p>She very nearly gasps, her knees feel weak. His touch is blazing heat against her skin, even through the thin fabric of her shirt and the mark on her breast feels as though it might burn through her chest, straight to her heart. Yet, it takes a monumental amount of effort for her to <i>finally</i> meet his eyes.</p>
<p>“This -- <i>you</i> -- are not a cruel fate.”</p>
<p>Despite the size of his hands, despite the strength she feels in them and in his frame, his touch is gentle yet insistent. His other hand grasps her other shoulder, touch comforting in the familiarity that only comes from what they are to each other.</p>
<p>And with the touch, she can <i>feel</i> him stirring within her.</p>
<p>His thumbs stroke her shoulders, despite the fabric, and there’s the faintest touch of an urge in him to pull her close -- she can <i>feel</i> that. She feels the shock, the surprise, the <i>rightness</i> of it all -- for them to be here, for <i>her</i> to be here, with him. That he almost can’t bring himself to believe that this is happening, that this is <i>real</i>.</p>
<p>In that instant, she knows he would give his life for hers.</p>
<p>“I’m not worth dying for.”</p>
<p>He makes a noise deep in his throat, which accentuates how deep it is, how it rumbles through her chest and leaves her shaking but centred.</p>
<p>“I once gave my life in pursuit of an empty, hollow goal,” he says softly. “Perhaps now the man before you is little more than a shade, but perhaps he is someone worthy of you.”</p>
<p>Her brow furrows, “But… you’re still here.” <i>With me.</i></p>
<p>“I’m not the man that I once was.” There’s a small, ghost of a smile on his lips; it fades quickly. He continues, voice still low and he sounds almost disappointed, “You don’t recognize me.”</p>
<p><i>Should I?</i> The words are on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them down instead -- the furrow between her brows deepening. The regret from him churns her stomach; it feels all-consuming and crushing, leaving her with the impression that <i>he feels he should be dead why is he still alive</i>. While something about him twigs along the edges of her memory, she can’t place him.</p>
<p>She has a vague impression that <i>she should know</i> and then a cool wave of realization.</p>
<p>“It was your sister, then.”</p>
<p>Something licks along the edges of her consciousness, impressions of <i>Yda</i> and she would know her form anywhere -- her charging alongside the other Scions <i>but they weren’t the Scions of the Seventh Dawn then</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shaking, she raises a hand and presses chilled fingers to her temple. “You… you knew Yda?”</p>
<p>“We crossed blades briefly a number of years ago -- before the Calamity.” There’s no defeat in his form or in what she gleans from their physical connection; rather, there’s relief that’s quickly mixed with guilt. “I was a different man, then.”</p>
<p>“You know my name, who I am. And who I’m not.” She pauses, “You say that man died, wha --”</p>
<p>It clicks. A little piece falls into place.</p>
<p>Perhaps it’s because he’s thinking about it, the focus he grants it allowing her to feel it, <i>to know</i>.</p>
<p>Memories are difficult to share across an incomplete bond, where they can only flit across through the physical connection of his hands on her shoulders. Yet, this one strikes; powerful and blindsiding.</p>
<p>The Praetorium. Fire. Explosions. <i>Betrayal</i>.</p>
<p>The Ascian -- Lahabrea -- laughs at the destruction he’s wrought. <i>His goal all along, he was used; used and thrown away, their lives and sacrifices were for nothing. <b>Nothing</b></i>. He closes his eyes because <i>t’was my hubris that brought this upon me, let me pay for that with my life</i>.</p>
<p>But he opens his eyes again. Death has not been kind to him.</p>
<p>He must carry on, the weight of the lives lost weigh heavily upon his shoulders. Yet, he cannot throw his life away -- not yet, not till <i>vengeance</i> is his. Not until the last Ascian lies dead at his feet can he rest, can he face them.</p>
<p>“You…” She swallows. <i>The mark</i>. “The Black Wolf.”</p>
<p>At long last, she drops her hand from the mark upon her breast; the one that she has borne all her life and kept carefully hidden away. The glamour that she has so carefully maintained till now fades, revealing its outline and <i>marking her as his</i>.</p>
<p>There’s a tremor that runs through both of him.</p>
<p>Him because <i>that man is dead</i> and her because… because the one who holds her, whose touch brings her such calm and comfort, is the Black Wolf himself, Gaius van Baelsar.</p>
<p>Part of her immediately recoils, though she physically doesn’t move. It feels too cruel, that fate and the Twelve would -- but then she meets his eyes. The weight there nearly crushes her. She does not recoil, she does not run or pull away from him.</p>
<p>Her hands tremble as she raises them. The flickering impression is <i>she will push him away now</i>. He would accept that, she knows. He expects her to push him away, to throw venomous words at him and he would deserve all of them for what he has done, what he believed -- for the man that he was.</p>
<p>Rather, she reaches up and cups his cheek with her hand.</p>
<p>Her voice, when she speaks, sounds certain and strong. “You said yourself that man is dead. I believe that.”</p>
<p>“<i>Lyse</i>.”</p>
<p>There’s no joy, no mirth to the smile that quirks up the corner of her mouth, “That’s all I am to you: Lyse. I… I want to be worthy of that.”</p>
<p>She hesitates, briefly, then reaches for the cup of her shirt that holds her breast. Tugging it down and to the side, she exposes the mark for him to see, “You left your mark; I should have known, but… I didn’t want to accept that this was waiting for me.”</p>
<p>“You’re young, Lyse. You deserve better than an old ghost.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been surrounded by ghosts my entire life,” she says softly. “My mother, my father, my sister. But not you.”</p>
<p>One of his hands covers hers, the one she has on his face. He leans into the touch with only a touch of hesitance, “There’s no arguing with you once you have set your eyes on something. I can only work to prove worthy of that.”</p>
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